There May Yet Be Hope
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story #89 Break out the ashtrays, Nayo is back. It's been nine years since Spock took in his nephew D'Gar, and the time has come for the boy to finally meet his father.
1. Chapter 1

_Note: The character Sola Thane is drawn from the Star Trek novel "Triangle", by Sondra Marshak and Myrna Culbreath._

 **Chapter 1**

Nayo was sprawled on his favorite sofa, gazing at a dreamlike painting on the wall, when his wife came in to say goodbye. As she bent to kiss his lips, he abruptly reached out and pulled her close.

"I don't want you to leave," he said, knowing that she must. Sola Thane's career as a Federation Free Agent often kept them apart for months at a time.

Looking upon him with concern, she tenderly stroked his trim goatee. "I wish I didn't have to. Now, more than ever."

Though a stirring of fear passed between them, neither chose to name it. Reluctantly Nayo rose, followed her to their transporter alcove and shared one final kiss before she stood back, awaiting the beam.

In that final moment she said, "Remember. Doctor McCoy at one-thirty."

Then the beam caught her and she was gone, leaving Nayo with a crushing sense of loneliness. Of all the days for his appointment with the irascible Doctor McCoy…but that was still several hours away. Lighting a cigarette, he settled back on the sofa to resume his contemplation of the newly acquired artwork. Slowly but surely the Impressionist landscape drew him into a placid world where time passed, unmeasured. Somewhere ahead, just out of reach, shone a clear sweet light capable of soothing away every pain. A fanciful notion, perhaps, but grounded in an actual event from Nayo's past.

Once, during a near-death experience, he had encountered a Being of Light who knew him intimately and loved him despite his wretched background and numerous failings. Surely he had not imagined it, but there remained a question of whether or not that Being was the Shiav called Yanash, whom his twin brother followed so religiously. Nayo preferred to think of the Being simply as _Oekon,_ or God. And as for prayer? At moments such as this or while at work in his garden, he yielded his heart to Oekon in some measure and experienced moments of peace.

An intrusive sound tore Nayo from his reverie. With a start, he realized that the phone at his elbow was playing a tune. Beside it, his unsmoked cigarette had burned out, leaving a gray line of ash in the tray.

He glanced at the phone ID and accepted the call from Doctor McCoy's receptionist. "Yes, this is Nayo S'chn T'gai." Hopefully he asked, "Are you rescheduling my appointment?"

Onscreen, a middle-aged woman replied, "Sir, we thought maybe _you_ were rescheduling. You're an hour late."

oooo

Stripped to the waist, Nayo lay stiffly on a padded examination table while Doctor McCoy fussed over him with various medical instruments.

"So," McCoy said as he worked, "let's get this straight. One minute it was nine-thirty in the morning, and the next thing you knew, it was two-thirty, or thereabouts. You don't remember getting up even once, but you weren't asleep. You just felt all…woozy."

"That is not the word I used, but yes," Nayo admitted, "that pretty much describes the experience. I must have slipped into a meditative trance."

McCoy stopped and looked at him with raised eyebrows. "You meditate?"

In fact, Nayo had received far less grounding in meditation than Spock. He glossed over his ignorance by calling himself a man of action, but the doctor's implication rankled, so he snapped, "Is that so hard to believe?"

McCoy let it pass. "This lapse of yours…has anything like it ever happened before?"

Nayo considered lying, but what purpose would it serve? He might fool McCoy, but he could not trick himself into believing that all was well. Even Sola had noticed the difference in him and insisted that he make this appointment. "Yes," he grudgingly admitted, "it's happened before…but only for brief periods…five or ten minutes, at most."

"And at the studio, you've been forgetting your lines." Not a question, but a statement of fact, as if McCoy had been present on the set when a script coach now fed him the occasional line.

Stomach knotting with dread, Nayo sat up. "Eight damn years, and nothing…but now my time has finally run out. Just say it. Bendii Syndrome…"

McCoy made a noncommittal sound as he turned to the diagnostic screen. His bony finger trembled slightly as he pointed at a column of readouts. "It's rearing its ugly head, alright, but we'll throw it a few punches. I'm prescribing a medication that's done wonders for Spock…" He abruptly swiveled to face Nayo. "Speaking of whom, that brother of yours called me not a week ago about a new treatment afoot on Vulcan _._ "

oooo

Nayo had a habit of summoning people into his presence like an autocrat, and though Spock found the behavior annoying, here he was—on the sunny back patio of Nayo's Colorado home—not so much out of curiosity, but distrust. Whatever his infamous brother wanted, it was likely to upset the serenity of Spock's life, and he would rather deal with it at a safe distance from Plum Creek.

Spock's seat afforded a fine view of an extraordinary garden and the snow-capped mountains beyond, where the actor skied with his celebrity friends in the winter. As Nayo poured two shots of Vulcan brandy, Spock's attention turned fully to his brother. Nayo had shaved off his beard. For the first time onscreen, he would portray Commander Spock of Starfleet, a situation that Spock found unsettling. Was this meeting about Nayo's upcoming role?

From the pocket of his silken leisure jacket, Nayo produced a bottle of prescription medication and set it on the table between them. Then he said, "It's happened."

Spock repressed a sigh. He had been hopeful that his twin would somehow be spared the pain of Vulcan dementia. Gathering himself, he inquired, "How long?"

"I was diagnosed Tuesday of last week." Slouching in a typically unrestrained manner, Nayo downed his shayo at a gulp. "Your doddering friend, McCoy, said you're looking into some new treatment…for yourself, I assume, since you haven't bothered to tell me."

Though the accusatory tone was both unjust and illogical, it was hardly surprising, coming from Nayo. Spock released the sigh he had been holding in. "Had I known that you were afflicted, I would have shared the information immediately. This new technique seems very promising. So promising, in fact, that I am arranging a trip to Vulcan, where I will visit a Yanashite healer who is experimenting with the method. As I understand, it involves a series of melds. Perhaps…with adequate training…we can be of help to one another."

Nayo gave a short, derisive laugh. "You—treat _me_? No thank you, brother, you're not a healer. You go to Vulcan to get your treatment, and then I'll do the same."

Spock picked up his glass, swirled the shayo, and took a bracing swallow. Anticipating a scene, he said, "I have researched the method. The degree of compatibility between the melding minds greatly improves the outcome. As halfling twins, we are particularly unique. Therefore our best option is to assist one another."

Nayo's face darkened with anger. Bolting upright in his chair, he said, "That can't be true!"

Spock was not accustomed to defending his honesty, but he kept his words calm and steady. "Although I do not find it a pleasant prospect, a healing meld between us would hold the greatest chance of success. If first I…and then you…could master the technique, it would ultimately benefit us both."

Nayo glared at him for a long moment. "So you'd not only treat me, but also train me in the technique?"

"If you are willing. But I am told that it demands a great deal of mental discipline."

Nayo lit a cigarette, and rising nervously, stepped off the patio to stare at the mountains as he smoked. His voice came in low, irritable snatches that Spock—even with Vulcan hearing—could not quite make out. But Spock could well imagine Nayo's thoughts. Apart from his public persona, Nayo led a very private life, one of proud self-reliance, and the threat of dementia would shake him badly, just as it had once shaken Spock.

Suddenly Nayo tossed down his cigarette and turned around. As he met Spock's eyes, Spock experienced an uncanny sense of viewing himself in a mirror. Perhaps Nayo felt the same, for his tough façade seemed to slip.

"Spock, even if you _are_ able to apply this new treatment…even if it _is_ successful in my case, I may not be able to learn it…at least well enough to be of any use." His mouth tightened again. "I wouldn't like feeling that I owe you."

Spock nodded grimly. How like Nayo to show more concern about personal indebtedness than a brother's health. "Of course there is a risk of failure. I only ask that you make the attempt. If you do fail, you might reimburse my travel expenses as payment for your own treatment." A tinge of sarcasm crept into his voice. "I would not want you to feel unnecessarily indebted."

Nayo's eyes narrowed as he considered the arrangement. "Very well, then. Contact me when you return from Vulcan." In a dismissive tone, he added, "Now I'll show you to the transporter alcove."

Spock did not rise. At the thought of what he was about to say, his heart rate accelerated beyond all control. "One moment, if you please. There is another matter we need to discuss…a matter that is long overdue." He could tell by Nayo's guarded look that his twin likely understood. Drawing a slow breath, Spock aired the delicate issue that had hung between them for the past nine years. "He has been asking about you. As time goes on, he is becoming more and more insistent."

Nayo was silent.

"My travel time and stay on Vulcan," Spock continued, "will take approximately three months. Might I suggest that he come visit you while I am away?"

Nayo's face flushed green. "Now? With my mind playing these tricks on me?"

Spock felt so strongly protective of his young ward, that he would gladly have withdrawn his proposal. But for D'Gar's sake he pressed on. "The boy has seen me ingest pills for the same condition. He has seen me grow forgetful or short-tempered and need my medication adjusted. It does not disturb him. He is a capable young man of thirteen, and he—"

"I know how old he is!"

"Good," Spock retorted, "at least that is a beginning. I am not by any means suggesting a permanent arrangement, only that you get to know one another. After all, you are his father."

Nayo turned aside and briefly retreated into his thoughts. Then he asked, "What…have you told him about me?"

"Not even your name." A band tightened around Spock's chest, for he could sense that Nayo was starting to relent. "If you are agreeable to the plan, I shall prepare him with the barest of information. The rest will be up to you."

Spock would have been surprised to know how wildly Nayo's own heart beat, and with what longing, at the thought of meeting his son face to face. For years, Nayo had followed the boy's progress from afar, jealous of Spock's hold over D'Gar, yet afraid to come forward…because once D'Gar learned Nayo's true identity, the boy would surely reject him.

Oblivious to his brother's difficulty, Spock awaited Nayo's decision. Long ago, with Nayo's permission, Spock had removed all memory of the Black League from D'Gar's mind. Over the years, Spock had worked hard to shelter his nephew from the truth, but he could not keep it him from him forever. Knowing this did not make it any easier to say, "Nayo. Your son needs you."

oooo

Back at Plum Creek, Spock withdrew to the seminary temple and prepared for the coming ordeal with a form of meditative prayer taught to him by Yanash. The depression caused by Nayo's assent felt very much like grief, but he could not allow himself to be swayed by his—or his wife's—emotion. T'Naisa thought he was making a serious mistake. Though he shared her concern that D'Gar would be negatively influenced by the former Black League operative, they could only protect him for so long.

Years ago, when D'Gar first asked about his parentage, Spock had revealed that his father was Spock's brother, but unable to care for him. Spock had never pretended to be anything more than D'Gar's uncle and guardian as he carefully fielded the stream of queries that came later: _"But why can't he take care of me?" "Where does he live?" "What does he look like?"_ And of course _, "Where is my mother?" "Doesn't she want me?"_

To that latter question, Spock had replied, "She lives far away on Vulcan, bound there by strict commitments." Unfortunately, her commitment was to a rehabilitation facility for—among other crimes—attempting to murder D'Gar's father. Hoping to console D'Gar, Spock had divulged, "You have a stepmother…your father's wife…who shows tender concern for you. She is half human, half Zaran." But D'Gar had only asked sadly, "Is _she_ also too busy for me?"

Now Spock left the temple and called D'Gar to the seminary office. Shielding the boy from his notorious celebrity father had not been a simple matter. It was necessary to educate him at home and strictly regulate all contact with the outside world. Spock had been particularly careful regarding entertainment, editing out any reference to Nayo in media programming, including the news. Spock dared not let D'Gar catch a glimpse of Nayo's face, for it was Spock's face, too. He dared not let D'Gar hear Nayo's surname mentioned, for every S'chn T'gai on Earth was closely related.

This was how it had been for D'Gar these past nine years, while Nayo seemingly lived in total self-absorption, rarely giving a thought to the son he had abandoned. But now all that was about to end.

The office door opened and there stood a young adolescent in need of a haircut. Spock guided his nephew to a small sofa and they sat side by side. Leaning forward, Spock spread his hands on his knees and stared down at them in silence.

Finding the behavior strange, D'Gar said, "Uncle Spock…am I in trouble?"

"No," Spock answered. The trouble was all his own, for he could not bear to spoil D'Gar's dreams of a perfect father and relinquish him to someone so deeply flawed as Nayo. But summoning his resolve, he turned to the boy and said, "You know that I suffer from a chronic illness. Recently, my brother has developed the same condition."

D'Gar's brown eyes lit with interest. "You mean…my _father_?""

"Yes, your father. As it happens, there is a promising new treatment on Vulcan. I will shortly be traveling there to observe the process and gain the necessary skill to help him."

The boy's quick mind reached a seemingly logical conclusion. "On Vulcan? That's where he lives?"

There was no turning back now. Steeling himself, Spock admitted, "No, right here on Earth…in Colorado. His name is…Nayo S'chn T'gai."

"Nayo…Nayo." D'Gar let the name roll off his tongue. "Nayo…it seems familiar. I think I've seen it somewhere—yes!" His excitement mounted. "One day, when we were in Pinehaven. The name was on a theater marquee. Is he an actor?"

A theater sign. That one had slipped by Spock. "Yes," he replied, "an actor."

"Really? Vulcans do that?"

"Nayo is not a typical Vulcan," Spock said tactfully. "He performs in front of holocameras. He…'makes movies', as they say, and has built quite a successful career." He cleared his throat. "Your father has extended an invitation. He would like you to visit him while I'm on Vulcan."

D'Gar jumped up, an ecstatic smile on his face. Regardless of personal opinion, Spock had always been careful to cast the acting profession in a positive light. He had known this moment would come, however personally rending, and was determined that no passing comment undermine D'Gar's respect for his father.

"Movies!" D'Gar said breathlessly. "I want to see them. I want to see _him_!"

Spock agreed to show a suitable movie, explaining first of all that he and his brother would look identical, except for Nayo's beard. They went to the cabin and included his daughter Tess. Though she had grown into a young lady, her mind still lagged, and she had quite forgotten that long-ago day when Spock referred to a lookalike on the news as her uncle.

Partway through the viewing, D'Gar turned to Spock with a frown of displeasure. "Why have you been keeping this from me?"

Spock could give no satisfactory reply, for he dared not tell him the truth about Nayo's past. As a result, D'Gar grew increasingly cold and scarcely spoke to him until the day Spock delivered the teenager to his father. As a going away present, Spock gave D'Gar a wrist phone and told him to call if any problems arose, or even if he was simply lonely.

"Thank you," the boy responded stiffly, "but I don't see why I would need it. I'm sure my father will have phones."

T'Naisa strapped it on D'Gar's wrist and kissed him, and there was no further debate on the issue.

oooo

Once, long ago, Nayo had sneaked onto his brother's property in Idaho. Peering out from the woods along Plum Creek, he watched D'Gar play happily with Spock's young daughter, Tess. D'Gar had been small then, but this slender lad standing before Nayo still resembled that little boy. His dark straight hair was cut in Vulcan bangs and his deep-set eyes were typically S'chn T'gai, but the full mouth and finely shaped nose were like his mother's.

"So at last we meet," Nayo said, just as he had rehearsed.

As Spock stood to one side, D'Gar shifted his feet and replied timidly, "Hello…Father."

From this awkward beginning, they managed a few more words before Spock left. Then Nayo led his son to a guest room, learning along the way that D'Gar enjoyed riding his aunt's horse, disliked cleaning the horse's stall, and preferred skiing over snowshoes. Suddenly the conversation lagged. Feeling ill-at-ease, Nayo excused himself in order to make some business contacts.

Feeling as nervous as his father, D'Gar unpacked his luggage and took in all the luxurious details of the bedroom, with its connecting bath. Compared to the rustic cabin at Plum Creek, this was like a palace—no—the VIP quarters at a star base. The thought immediately captured his imagination, for Starfleet was foremost among his secret fantasies, of which he had many. But as he wandered out into the main house, everything seemed so strange and so much bigger than real life that he began to miss the cozy feeling of home where Tess called him "Digger" and Aunt T'Naisa lavished him with affection. Nayo's house even smelled different; his nose crinkled at an unpleasant odor that hung in the air, and he slipped back into his imaginary world. A star base should smell better, like exotic spices gathered from a thousand alien planets.

He stopped at a hologram of a beautiful woman with a tawny mane of hair. Her vaguely feline appearance suggested some Zaran genes. _This must be Sola Thane,_ he thought. _Nayo's wife, the stepmother who was off working for the Federation._ Thinking about her, D'Gar walked into a splendid gleaming kitchen. His eyes found a spill of crumbs on the tiled floor and noticed a broom nearby. Here was something familiar. Taking up the broom, _it became a sensor wand in his hands, and he swept the floor thoroughly, seeking out any dangerous biohazard that might have made its way onto the base. Little by little, he worked his way from the kitchen to the main entry, and outdoors, onto a breezeway where "Captain" Nayo was conducting some confidential Starfleet business on his communicator._

D'Gar came to an abrupt halt and stared at the stinking fumes rising from a cigarette in Nayo's hand—the same rank odor he had noticed inside.

Seeing him watching, Nayo dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his shoe. He quickly ended the call and gestured toward the broom. "I don't expect you to clean around here. I have a service for that."

D'Gar's hands clenched over the broomstick. Without his beard, Nayo looked and sounded exactly the same as Uncle Spock—so much alike, but they certainly behaved differently. Just now, D'Gar had the feeling that Nayo didn't really want him around interrupting things, and it hurt.

"I…I don't mind sweeping," he stammered. "At home, I…" He fell silent, fearing that he had offended his father by calling Plum Creek home. But suddenly he didn't care, and his heart hammered at his daring. "You were smoking. Isn't that against the law?"

Nayo's right eyebrow rose ominously. "Outspoken, aren't you?" Then his manner softened, and he seemed to take D'Gar into his confidence. "I'm afraid tobacco is just one of your father's many vices, but I have my talents, too. I've started a new movie. Tomorrow you can come along with me to the studio, but I'll have to introduce you as 'a young friend' with an interest in acting. If they find out you're my son, the press will be all over us."

Grateful to be included in his famous father's plans, happy to be called "a young friend", D'Gar decided that he would have to tolerate Nayo's tobacco habit, however uncomfortable it made him. He followed Nayo on a tour of the back garden, listening patiently as his father named each flowering plant, describing its characteristics in numbing detail. Nayo's luxurious new skimmer proved much more interesting. Strapping himself in, D'Gar sat beside his father as they soared out to a fine restaurant for dinner.

Morning came early. Before daybreak, they were already on the movie set, and D'Gar could hardly contain his excitement. They were filming a Starfleet movie! Many of the scenes took place on a replica of the starship _Enterprise_ , where Nayo wore a handsome officer's uniform in the starring role. No wonder the trademark beard had vanished from Nayo's face, for he was portraying his own brother, Spock.

D'Gar followed his father through the long day, imagining each scene was real and that he was included in the action. _Young Ensign D'Gar, on a mission that turns deadly, yet throughout the adventure he remains so fearless that Captain James T. Kirk (portrayed by Skip Hansen) awards him an honorary medal._

Noticing the glow in D'Gar's eyes, Nayo was pleased, even flattered, to think that his son was enthralled by the film industry. Already they had found something in common, a mutual interest that they could build on during their days together. At lunchtime, he was similarly pleased when D'Gar selected a cheeseburger instead of adhering to vegetarian fare like Spock.

Over his own hot pork sandwich, Nayo said, "How would you like a role as an extra? That's how I got my start."

D'Gar responded with enthusiasm. Then, without warning, the boy asked, "What did you do…before you became involved in movies?"

Instinctively Nayo began to reach for the comfort of a cigarette, but he could not smoke here, openly flaunting the law in the Warner Brothers food court. He reminded himself that there was no reason to panic. After all, he had known this question was coming and he had an answer ready.

Smoothly he said, "I worked for a Vulcan company that went out of business," and directed the conversation away from his dark past. "Being an actor is much more interesting. The environment always changes. Each day is fresh, you'll see. I'm sure I can find you some small role." And he did.

D'Gar was too young to portray a Starfleet crewman, so wardrobe dressed him as a Vulcan youth. When D'Gar's cue came, he strolled through the background while the main characters interacted in a spaceport scene. It was all done as a personal favor to Nayo, with none of the usual paperwork that would have required awkward information such as D'Gar's full name and address and the consent of a parent. D'Gar found the simple scene thrilling.

oooo

The weeks of filming passed swiftly for D'Gar. He noticed how some actors grew bored while awaiting their turns in front of the camera, but he was too fascinated to be bored, and never once touched any of the lessons that Spock had sent along. Besides, he was still angry with his uncle for keeping Nayo secret. Why had he done it? Was Nayo really so bad?

D'Gar was about to receive an answer.

The crew was filming at a sunny desert location meant to resemble an alien world. D'Gar had begun to fancy himself as a dashing Starfleet security officer, personal guard to Commander Spock-as-portrayed-by-Nayo. This was a different Spock from the one D'Gar knew from Plum Creek, a noble movie-Spock who would never keep secrets from a boy, important information about someone's own parents. _Ensign D'Gar served with faithful affection. Among his many duties, he made sure the commander took the daily capsules that safeguarded against the planet's lethal radiation. Without them, the commander would grow vague and forgetful and stare off into space—not a good thing, considering his position of authority. In the interest of the commander's health, Ensign D'Gar also began to seek out his hidden supply of cigarettes and flush them down the toilet. He was tired of tobacco stinking up the quarters they shared, and the way Nayo-as-Spock coughed every morning._

The first time D'Gar disposed of them he stood by, silently hiding his guilt, while Nayo rummaged through every drawer in the hotel room, hunting for the missing packs. D'Gar knew by his father's troubled expression that Nayo thought his memory was failing him. The second time this happened, Nayo abruptly stopped his futile search and turned to D'Gar, one eyebrow raised. It was evening, and Nayo was tired after a long day of filming. He would want nothing more than a cigarette and a peaceful dinner and a good night's sleep. _D'Gar shrank inside, for he knew that the young ensign was in serious trouble._

"You're the one!" snapped Nayo. "You've been stealing my cigarettes, haven't you?"

 _Ensign D'Gar struggled to suppress an incriminating blush._

"The truth!" Nayo demanded.

D'Gar's heart thudded. He was no brave ensign after all, not even a first year cadet, and the anger on his father's face was frightening. He tried to think up a convincing lie, but his mind went blank. _The truth…a Yanashite must always tell the truth._

Just then, someone rapped on the door and called out, "Ready, Nayo? We're heading down to dinner."

Nayo hesitated, his eyes boring into D'Gar. Then he said, "You go with them. I seem to have lost my appetite."

D'Gar gladly made his escape. A few short minutes ago he had been famished, but now his stomach felt queasy as he followed the actors through the hotel buffet line, dabbing a little food onto his plate. At the table, he could hardly eat a bite.

The minor actress seated next to him asked, "Something wrong, kid?"

D'Gar's face went hot with embarrassment.

Leaning close, she spoke into his pointed ear, "It's him, isn't it? Nayo. He can be a real bastard when that Black League side of him pops out. Don't worry, he'll get over it."

As D'Gar swung around to face her, a shiver ran up his spine. _The Black League?_ Just last summer, he had heard about that vicious organization from one of his young cousins. Its members were brutal and wicked beyond belief. They even stole children from their parents…innocent little babies…and transformed them into heartless killers.

The woman laughed at his discomfort. "Don't tell me you didn't know? Oh, Nayo was a bad one. Got captured by the Federation and cut himself a deal."

"Cut a deal?" D'Gar repeated in a weak voice.

"He testified against the League, helped break it up, and got immunity from prosecution. In other words, he got off 'Scot free'."

Nayo's words came back to D'Gar with chilling clarity: _I worked for a Vulcan organization that went out of business._ Numbly he said, "Then…then Nayo did a _good_ thing…"

"Maybe he did," she conceded, "or maybe he only testified to save his own ass. It's hard to tell, with him."

Sick at heart, D'Gar withdrew to a corner of the hotel lobby. Darkness was pressing at the windows when he finally gathered the courage to call Aunt T'Naisa on his wrist phone. Her small image comforted him as he poured out the terrible story, hoping she would deny everything and put his world back in order.

"It's a lie," he insisted, "isn't it? My father never belonged to the Black League, did he?"

She was so slow to answer that D'Gar could barely hold back tears of disappointment.

Gently she said, "Listen to me. Nayo never asked to join them. He never said, 'I'd rather be beaten and bullied by strangers than live in Ambassador Sarek's fine home with Spock and a mother who loves him. That's not how it happened. When Nayo was born, the Black League stole him, but his parents never found out. All those years away from his family, he suffered…he suffered a lot…but now he's made a new life for himself, a _good_ life…and you're part of it."

D'Gar hunched down in misery. "I don't want to be part of it. I want to go home." But then he remembered his anger toward Spock and felt it growing hotter than ever. "So this is why Uncle Spock kept my father secret. But if he knew all about Nayo, why did he bring me here to live with him?"

Across the miles, T'Naisa sighed. "At first I was against it…but D'Gar, you're thirteen years old. We could only shelter you for so long. Soon you would have found out about Nayo on your own. At least this way, you had a chance to meet your father without any preconceived ideas. Tell me. Has he been good to you?"

D'Gar gave no answer. Until today, his only complaint against Nayo was the ever-present cigarette smoke. His father had turned out to be a highly intelligent man, multilingual, and surprisingly well-versed in the sciences. Had that been part of his Black League training?

"Give him a chance," urged T'Naisa. "Talk to him, see what he has to say about his past. Then, if you still want to come home, I'll order a transport."

When D'Gar finally went upstairs, Nayo was not in the hotel suite. Retreating to his room, he brought out his neglected book of scripture and sought encouragement from the familiar words of Yanash. He no longer cared if Nayo caught him at his spiritual reading. Just turning the paper pages brought a homey feeling, as if he were still at Plum Creek, breathing the clean mountain air instead of tobacco.

Just past ten o'clock, he heard footsteps and tensed as his father entered the room. He kept his eyes on his book.

"The _ParTu_." Nayo's voice sounded pleasant as he read the book's cover. " _For You,_ in Standard—good reading."

Hardly believing his ears, D'Gar glanced up. "You've heard of it?"

Nayo settled into an empty chair near D'Gar. Gazing at the ceiling, he quoted, "And then Yanash drew the people to Himself and began speaking to them about God's fatherly love and its power to redeem them from their sins."

"You know scripture!" That did not fit at all with D'Gar's image of a Black League assassin.

Nayo nodded. Reaching into a pocket, he drew out a pack of cigarettes and tossed them into D'Gar's lap. "Here's one you missed."

Hardly daring to breathe, D'Gar stared at the words on the crumpled package: "Cool Menthol, the finest in smoking pleasure." He wished now that he had never taken his father's cigarettes. He should have let Nayo smoke himself into an early grave. The man could not be trusted; he was even worse than Spock, much worse. D'Gar wished with all his heart that someone else was his father, some nice ordinary person instead of this scripture-quoting criminal.

Quietly Nayo asked, "Are you ready to tell me the truth?"

D'Gar's anger hit the boiling point. Rising up, he confronted his father, all but choking on the words. "Yes, I took your idiotic cigarettes! I got rid of them because they were making you cough, because they stink, because they're illegal! But I guess that wouldn't matter to you, would it? Not to a Black League assassin!"

An ominous silence descended.

For a while Nayo just gazed at him, unblinking. Then he sighed. "I should never have let you out of my sight."

"You mean like Spock?" D'Gar seethed. "He controlled everything, too. Well, now I know why."

Stock-still, Nayo said, "Who told you? _Who?"_

D'Gar sank back into his chair. "What does it matter? It seems everyone knew…everyone but me _."_

Nayo let it pass. Deep in thought, he stood and slowly walked back and forth. "So you have it all figured out," he said. "You know why Spock brought you to Earth and raised you…because I wasn't fit to be a father…not as I was, then…and I don't know that I'm much better now." He stopped and looked straight at D'Gar. "Do you think I had a pleasant time on Vulcan? The Black League stole my life from me. I was valuable to them only because I could impersonate my famous brother. I had to learn everything he learned, whether or not I found it interesting. Yes, eventually even scripture. It didn't matter what I liked, and as for friends? They murdered the only friend I ever had."

"What about my mother?" D'Gar ventured. "Who is she? Where is she?"

A shadow of pain crossed Nayo's face. "We met in the Black League, and she gave birth to you there. No one lived together as a family; it wasn't allowed. Children were reserved for training by the Dark Masters. You'll never remember those years…Spock's seen to that."

D'Gar felt a sharp pain in his heart. He had begun to tremble and could not seem to stop. "What do you mean, 'Spock's seen to that'?"

"Your uncle…removed certain unpleasant memories from your mind."

D'Gar bolted from his chair so fast that the book and cigarettes went flying. "He _took_ things? Out of my mind?"

Nayo nodded. "Living nightmares, D'Gar, of the same type that sometimes wake me up, screaming."

Once last week, D'Gar had heard Nayo shriek in the night like a wounded animal. The strange, frightening sound had made him dive under the covers. But to steal something as personal as a memory? Spock had no right!

Nayo retrieved the pack of cigarettes from the floor. Crushing it in his strong hand, he said, "There's nothing I can do to change the past, but from now on, I'm going to set a better example for you. I've smoked my last cigarette."

There was a small stirring of gladness, _and the young ensign felt the tension in his stomach start to ease. Though the commander's past remained dark and mysterious, his face held a kind, fatherly appeal that encouraged a sense of kinship between them. Perhaps their relationship was not at an end, after all._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Spock's stay on Vulcan proved successful and he arrived home on a mild summer day. Though he had sent several communiqués to D'Gar, friendly greetings and gentle queries about school assignments, there had not been a single reply. The only word of the boy came through T'Naisa. And since the night D'Gar learned about Nayo's Black League connection, he had said nothing more about it. His brief phone conversations centered on the movie industry and Nayo's status as a star. Clearly D'Gar had grown fond of his father, and it roused in Spock an unpleasant sense of rivalry that he could not quite master. He wanted D'Gar back…safe and secure in their peaceful home. But first, a difficult task lay ahead, and Spock was anxious to be done with it.

By phone, he invited Nayo to Plum Creek for the treatment process. Nayo was between projects, so he arrived with D'Gar that very day, just as T'Naisa was putting dinner on the table. It was the first time Nayo had shared a meal with the family. Tess happily accepted her father's twin, as she did most things, without questioning why Nayo had never visited until now. She kissed Nayo's cheek as if he were a second father, laughing at the way his fresh growth of beard tickled. D'Gar sat at his father's side, as far away from Spock as possible, and frowningly replied to Spock's questions about his studies, admitting that he had "fallen behind".

"Behind?" Spock said drily. "Precisely how many assignments have you completed?"

D'Gar only shrugged, and Spock decided he would say nothing more about education until Nayo left. That night, the boy announced that he would not be sleeping in his old room. Instead, he would share Nayo's quarters at the seminary. T'Naisa cast Spock a pained look. The boy had not even asked permission _._ Yet, under the circumstances, they thought it best to allow the arrangement.

Under a cloud of tension the treatments began, and after a week of intensive melds involving delicate adjustments, Nayo's cerebral function showed a marked improvement. Then came the second, more difficult phase, when Nayo must learn the technique. Despite a few ill-tempered outbursts, he persevered with the training until Spock thought he might safely put himself into his brother's hands. A fresh week of treatments commenced, with Spock as the recipient—day after day of piercing headaches, followed by yet another week of melds made necessary by Nayo's lack of finesse. It was during this interval that Sola Thane swept in, further distracting Nayo, and warmly welcoming D'Gar into her life. The disruption caused more delay, but one flaming July morning the process was finally over. Only time would tell how long the treatment held.

Nayo packed his bag, eager to leave Plum Creek for the fast-paced world of a celebrity. As he and his wife were about to depart, they took Spock aside and quietly informed him that D'Gar was leaving with them. Spock's face gave no sign of his inner turmoil as he looked at his determined brother and the exotic halfling with whom Spock had a "past" of his own. Legally, Spock still held guardianship over D'Gar, but the boy was Nayo's son. He vividly remembered the bitter custody battle when his former mother-in-law tried to take his own son, James. He would not subject D'Gar to that sort of pain, if the boy truly wanted to live in Colorado.

"One moment," Spock told his brother. He went to D'Gar's old bedroom and found him stuffing a suitcase full of boyhood keepsakes.

Spock's throat tightened. "So…you are moving out?"

Looking aside, D'Gar said, "He's not as bad as you think."

Spock held on to his patience. "Have your ever heard me say anything against him?"

D'Gar muttered an old Vulcan adage. _"_ Silence can be more telling than words."

Spock truthfully said, "Your father and I both thought it best to shield you from his reputation."

D'Gar's dark eyes rose to challenge him. "It wasn't Nayo who stole my memories!"

Spock was startled into silence. So D'Gar knew even about that, and an act of mercy was made to sound like a violation. Spock was on the verge of saying, _"It was for your welfare—and with Nayo's permission,"_ but that information would likely drive a wedge between the boy and his father. With an excruciating effort, he said in a kindly manner, "Very well, then. Take whatever you wish. The rest, we can send along later." And he left to inform the others of D'Gar's decision.

In a moment, the boy was ready. He had a quick hug for his Aunt T'Naisa before Tess kissed him on the cheek. Without a word to Spock, he rushed out the door, followed by Nayo and Sola Thane. There was the sound of a skimmer rising into the air. Then quiet settled over the cabin.

With a sorrowful expression, Tess went to the piano and began to play a somber theme. Struggling to contain his own emotions, Spock headed for the porch and stood staring at the clearing where D'Gar had played as a child, where he had just walked away, most likely forever. The prints from his shoes were still visible in the dirt.

T'Naisa came up from behind, and as she embraced him, he could feel her tears on his neck and the pain of her loss mingling with his own. To her credit she did not lay the blame at his feet, but only said, "Well…it's over."

As if, like the healing melds, D'Gar was a project that had reached completion. But nothing about it felt complete to Spock. He had cherished such high hopes for his nephew, who like Spock himself, was gifted in the sciences. Fondly he remembered the faraway, dreamy expression D'Gar sometimes wore. It was not something one expected in a Vulcan, but D'Gar usually managed to keep his mind on the business at hand. Spock believed there was nothing wrong with a dream if it led to a worthwhile goal. But now he feared for his nephew, exposed on a daily basis to Nayo's bad habits and the allure of celebrity life. One stint as an "extra" would not be enough for the boy. Ultimately he would want more, and Nayo would be glad to oblige him. Perhaps they would form a crime-fighting cinema team like the classic Batman and Robin, and D'Gar would turn away from serious studies altogether.

From that day on, Spock was dependent on whatever news T'Naisa gathered from occasional phone conversations with D'Gar. His concern for his nephew's studies eased when Nayo enrolled D'Gar in a school for the gifted. Apparently that educational setting agreed with the boy. When Spock viewed his phone recordings, D'Gar seemed well-spoken and confident.

At Christmas, T'Naisa invited Nayo's family back to Plum Creek, but the gathering felt awkward, for D'Gar continued to ignore his uncle. After that, there were no further attempts at conciliation.

oooo

Three years went by, and very little had changed at Plum Creek. Through official channels, Spock knew that D'Gar still made some effort to practice his Yanashite faith. That alone provided a measure of hope for D'Gar's future, but the loss of his nephew continued to weigh heavily.

Winter returned to Idaho, bringing snowy gales that bent the treetops and sent deadwood crashing to the ground. One blustery day, Spock dismissed his seminarians and was startled to find a well-dressed visitor loitering outside the classroom. With a shock he recognized D'Gar, who at sixteen was nearly as tall as Spock, broad-shouldered, with facial contours maturing into those of a man. A scent of cologne mingled with stale tobacco.

The hallway cleared and still Spock could not take his eyes off him. Finally he said, "I have missed you."

D'Gar's gaze dropped. In a deepened voice he said, "I came through the seminary alcove. I can't stay long…"

"I see," Spock replied. "I'm afraid T'Naisa isn't home. She's making a lecture tour of the temples, and Tess is in Pinehaven."

D'Gar's head came up and his jaw tightened with resolve. "My business is with you. You have something that belongs to me, and I want it back."

"Oh?" Spock took mental inventory of D'Gar's belongings. "Did we overlook some item when we shipped your…" With a sudden pang, Spock realized what his nephew wanted. In the stillness he seemed to hear a distant echo whispering through the hall. He saw himself bending over a frightened, wounded little boy, using his mind to calm him. Right here, in this very building. _I am your uncle…you can trust me…I will never harm you…_

A thickness gathered in Spock's throat. Swallowing against it, he said, "Come with me."

D'Gar followed him to a tidy little bedroom with a view of the falling snow. Spock shut the door, enclosing them in complete privacy before he said, "This is the room where I kept you."

" _Kept_ me!" D'Gar's voice rose in anger. "Like an animal?"

Though the accusation stung, Spock answered with a Vulcan's studied calm. "The door was locked and the windows shuttered for your protection. I spent my nights here with you, and as many daytime hours as I could spare. At first, you were completely unapproachable. Your psyche had been seriously damaged by the Black League, and you trusted no one. But little by little you came to trust me…and that foundation of trust became a bridge to complete normalcy. On Christmas Day, I brought you into the cabin to live with our family, but there were many setbacks. You would sometimes fly into tantrums and destroy things. On the day you broke Tess's arm, it became clear that you would needed a deeper, more drastic therapy. It was then, after consulting your father, that I expunged the debilitating memories. From that point on, your behavior improved markedly. One might say that you became…a happy child."

Tears welled in D'Gar's eyes. "I'm sorry if I broke Tessie's arm, but don't you understand? I can't remember, so it's as if you're talking about someone else. It's as if I'm missing a part of myself."

Spock went over to the bed where little D'Gar had slept, and sat down on it. Wearily he said, "I raised you as I would a son."

"And I loved you as if you were my father," D'Gar said with feeling. He stepped closer and his face fell into shadow, making him seem even more intense. " _Show_ me. Show me how it was, back then. I know you can."

Spock immediately realized what he meant. A Vulcan mind-meld. "Why now? Why today, after three years of silence?" _Bitter years,_ he might have added, _made painful by your resentment and ingratitude._

D'Gar's head bowed as if he had read his uncle's thoughts. "Because I have a favor to ask you…but I can't do it until I know…without a doubt."

Spock tamped down a stirring of anger. "That I am telling you the truth? That I did not, in fact, expunge your early memories for some personal, perhaps unsavory, motive?"

D'Gar's face flushed and his eyes remained fixed on the floor. "I would not have chosen those words."

"And _I_ have nothing to hide," Spock countered. "Come then, if you wish. See for yourself how it happened. I will begin with my point of view."

As Spock waited, he could sense D'Gar struggling between adolescent belligerency and shame. The joining of their minds was not likely to be pleasant, nor end well.

D'Gar sat down beside him. Taking a bit longer than usual, Spock set himself in the time-honored Vulcan discipline that even Yanashites taught their children in a modified form. D'Gar was proficient in the mental skills, for as in all matters of education, Spock had been his instructor.

Achieving the necessary state of mind, Spock turned and arranged his fingertips on D'Gar's smooth young face, firmly contacting the meld points. He must be very careful to safeguard D'Gar's privacy and his own as he introduced the missing memories. Meeting the apprehension in D'Gar's eyes, he began to recite the familiar formula. "My thoughts to your thoughts…"

 _…_ _And children are milling around a large Vulcan compound, lashing out at one another like animals. Spock's attention focuses on a dark-haired boy…and the scene shifts to a starliner where the same boy lies heavily sedated for the voyage to Earth._

 _…_ _There is a rush of images and Spock is at Plum Creek, walking down a hallway to the door that is kept locked. As he enters the room, the boy reacts to Spock's presence with a howl of terror, scuttling to his favorite hiding place under the bed. Spock speaks gently to D'Gar in Vulcan. Then it comes time to scrub the child. With the tub ready, Spock lifts the bed frame with one hand and captures his flailing nephew with the other. The four-year-old is strong, and Spock decides to subdue him with a nerve pinch, thus avoiding the usual bruises and bites that accompany a bath._

… _More memories speed by, and when Spock's patient efforts fail to improve the child's behavior, he makes his first attempt at remote mental influence. Little D'Gar calms noticeably, but is the invasive method justified? Spock wonders if he is only using it to save himself trouble, but the continuing contact brings a steady improvement that is gratifying._

 _…_ _There is a string of successes. D'Gar communicates with Spock and they start to share meals together. D'Gar leaves the room and walks in the corridor. He enters the Temple. He experiences the outdoors from the safety of Spock's arms._

 _…_ _Spock is proud of his achievements with the boy, and never more so than Christmas morning when D'Gar accompanies him through the clearing, walking at his side, and they enter the cabin together. All the care that Spock has invested in his nephew culminate in the shining moment when T'Naisa and Tess welcome D'Gar into the family home._

 _…_ _But the weeks that follow that triumph become increasingly chaotic, and Spock realizes that D'Gar is still deeply troubled. In the Black League, he had been trained in cruelty toward other children, and Spock's relationship with his daughter triggers jealousy in D'Gar. The boy's unpredictable rampages escalate until the day he viciously attacks Tess, breaking her arm._

 _…_ _Once again, D'Gar is confined to the locked room, and though he begs for forgiveness and cries to be let out, Spock begins to fear that D'Gar will never lead a normal life. For the first time, Spock decides to initiate direct mental contact, and ventures into his nephew's past at the underground complex of the Black League._

Now, Spock paused in the meld to question the present day D'Gar _. This is it. These next memories are the ones that I removed from you. Do you still want to see them?_

D'Gar expressed a desire to continue. So with no attempt at detachment, Spock passed on the memory of that meld, holding back none of its horror. The teenager shuddered, but did not pull free. Still mentally joined, Spock told him, _This is why I consulted your father. This is why I entered your mind a second time and relieved you of the burden. Now you may judge whether or not it was right._ At that, Spock ended the meld.

D'Gar shot to his feet and left the room.

oooo

The last of the daylight began to fade, bringing a sense of chill, though Spock's seminary office was well heated. It had been two hours since his nephew's abrupt departure and it was becoming clear that D'Gar had no intention of returning. Once more Spock tried to lose himself in work, but his thoughts kept straying back to their meld, wondering what he might have done differently to soften the harrowing images of child abuse.

He was about to shut down his computer when he decided to contact Nayo, so his brother would be prepared for any problems arising from the meld. As usual, Nayo took an adversarial stance, but this time Spock did not blame him. As it turned out, D'Gar had come without his father's knowledge and had not yet returned home.

Quickly transferring the call to his wrist phone, Spock left his desk and strode down the hallway, to the transporter alcove. A review of the data log showed no record of D'Gar leaving. Either he had fled Plum Creek by some other means, or the teen was still here on the mountain. Spock passed the information on to Nayo as he stepped outdoors.

Nayo's voice was as wintry as the air. _"_ If anything happens to my son—I swear on my blood, _anything…"_

Shutting out the threat, Spock stood shivering near the entry and looked around. The storm had subsided, leaving a thick blanket of snow. Spock's snow blaster was gone from its bracket beside the door, and a footpath had been cleared all the way to the cabin. Helpful seminarians had been known to open the path, but they would have returned the blaster. And through the dusk, light glimmered in the cabin windows.

"He may be over at my house," Spock informed his brother, sincerely hoping it was true. "I'll get back to you."

The instant Spock came through the door, he knew D'Gar had been there. The odors of stale tobacco and coffee were unmistakable. Turning, Spock found the youth seated in the kitchen, unharmed, his big hands wrapped around a steaming mug. Greatly relieved, Spock approached him, and D'Gar glanced up with a guarded expression.

Spock stopped near the table. From there, the stench of tobacco seemed stronger than ever. _Had D'Gar taken up the habit? What other vices might he have acquired from Nayo?_ Perhaps it was not the proper moment to ask, but Spock decided to voice his concern frankly. "I keep smelling tobacco. Have you been smoking?"

D'Gar swallowed some coffee. Then he said, "It's Father…again."

Reassured, Spock sat down and took advantage of the opening. "You didn't tell him you where you went. He has been concerned."

D'Gar's slanted eyebrows drew together in a frown. "He might have guessed."

"Oh?"

"He knows what's been on my mind."

"Your past," Spock presumed, but D'Gar's response took him by surprise.

"No, Uncle. My future."

It had been a long time since D'Gar had called him "Uncle" in such a respectful tone. And now D'Gar was also referencing the future. What could it mean? Spock studied his nephew's clear eyes and resolute face. He had not expected D'Gar to assimilate the meld's shock so quickly, and it indicated an impressive level of maturity.

"Your future," Spock repeated. Testing the waters, he said, "I have seen you assume small roles in some of your father's movies. I suppose you will want to enter the film industry, like him." In Spock's opinion, a great waste of scientific aptitude. Nevertheless, he mildly added, "That is only natural."

D'Gar actually smiled. "Oh, no. Acting is nothing more than fantasizing. When it comes to my life's work, I want the real thing. _You_ understand, don't you?"

Spock arched a brow. D'Gar's stress on "you" implied that someone else did not understand. Might that someone be Nayo? Clearing his throat, Spock said, "The real thing. Yes…I can certainly understand that. And what, pray tell, is your plan for the future?"

Watching Spock closely, D'Gar squared his shoulders and said, "First, I want you to know…that you've done the right thing for me…back then and today. And I want you to know…I…I'm sorry."

The tears that shimmered in D'Gar's eyes affected Spock so deeply that he came dangerously close to shedding a tear of his own. He nodded, letting D'Gar know that the apology had been accepted.

D'Gar continued in a husky voice. "Knowing what I do now, I'm more determined than ever to make my life count. Next month, I'm taking the entrance exam for Starfleet Academy."

Spock blinked, and his heart skipped a row of beats before settling back into a normal pattern.

 _"_ _You_ attended the Academy," D'Gar was saying, "and taught there, and even served as its Commandant."

Recovering from his shock, Spock grew uneasy as he acknowledged, "Yes. A long time ago." Would the boy expect him to use his influence in some underhanded manner, like one of the unsavory characters in Nayo's films?

"And you retired from Starfleet with full honors," D'Gar pressed.

Though Spock's record was not without blemish, he had served meritoriously. "Yes, full honors."

D'Gar drew in a deep breath, as if what he was about to say demanded great effort. "Uncle Spock, I'll need a sponsor…and I was hoping that you might…" With eyes full of expectation, his voice trailed off.

 _So that's it_ , Spock thought, relaxing. He merely wanted a list of potential sponsors.

Then D'Gar said it plainly. "I'll understand if you refuse, after the way I've treated you these past three years, but…will you sponsor me for the Academy?'

Somehow, Spock had never anticipated this. His duties as a Yanashite teacher were so far removed from Starfleet. With Jim Kirk gone back to the Nexus, there was little to remind him of those days, so he seldom thought about his former life of space exploration. Even when he visited Dr. McCoy, who had served with him aboard the starship _Enterprise_ , their conversation usually centered on health and family.

Spock had not sponsored a cadet since the brilliant and lovely Valeris, who later shamed him by turning traitor. Questioning his ability to judge character, he had vowed then to never sponsor another. But this was D'Gar, and the face of his beloved nephew shone with hopeful anticipation.

Reaching across the table, Spock clasped D'Gar's hand tightly and the youth returned the pressure like a man. Warmly, Spock said, "I will be proud to sponsor you."

As the last of the tension between them eased, D'Gar broke into a radiant Yanashite smile. And then they began to make plans for the future.

oooo

His pulse racing with excitement, D'Gar stood outside Starfleet Academy's main assembly hall with his father, Uncle Spock, and five other family members. He tried to stand patiently while Spock adjusted the collar of his cadet uniform. It was late August, and the hot Phoenix sun beat down on a stream of youths in gray—plebes like him—accompanied by their loved ones. This was where they must all say goodbye, for once inside, the cadets would sit apart, under the authority of Starfleet. A quick handshake or hug sufficed, for any words would have brought the risk of an emotional scene. Once that ordeal was over, they entered the hall and D'Gar went his separate way.

It felt exhilarating to be on his own. Choosing a seat among the other cadets, he quietly awaited the induction ceremony and orientation that followed. Looking out across the assembly, he saw Nayo and Spock drawing some attention, and was glad to be sitting where no one knew he was related to them. He was determined to succeed strictly through his own efforts, without any special privileges or consideration. And he had no doubt that he would succeed, for Spock had taught him honor and discipline, and from his father he was learning a Vulcan's pride.

No. Failure was not an option for the future Ensign D'Gar _, heroic Starfleet figure decorated for outstanding performance under enemy fire, while all around him the ship was…_

D'Gar snapped himself out of the reverie. Someday, perhaps, it would all happen. But this was real.

Gazing up at the vast ceiling, he let his mind travel back to the early childhood memories Spock had restored—phantom images of those brutal years in the Black League nursery, without mother or father, dreadfully frightened and alone. His thoughts moved to a rustic cabin, a mouthwatering aroma of food, the warm secure feeling of someone holding him, loving him. The simple joy of family life.

And here in Starfleet he would find another sort of family. D'Gar gave his attention to his fellow cadets and future comrades. Most of them were human, but here and there an alien stood out. On his left, a reserved-looking young man turned toward him and they eyed one another curiously.

"Vulcan?" the cadet asked with a marked British accent.

"Mostly," D'Gar responded. And as a friendly gesture, he introduced himself, omitting his famous surname.

His seatmate extended a hand in greeting. "Jean-Luc."

They shook hands. Then the Commandant approached the podium and the new class of cadets rose as one.

oooo

After the induction ceremony, Nayo followed Spock into a breezeway, expecting the rest of the family to join them. But T'Naisa and the others had gone off looking for refreshments. Stuck alone with Spock, he eyed his brother's drab civilian suit and said, "I'm surprised you're not wearing your pretty Starfleet uniform. Doesn't fit anymore?"

Spock glanced at Nayo's stylish, flamboyant clothing, but before he could say anything, a brusque voice erupted nearby.

"Off the grass, sonny!"

Nayo turned and saw a gardener waving his clippers at a cadet crossing the manicured lawn. The tardy plebe took off and ran. "Pleasant fellow," Nayo observed with sarcasm.

Keeping his voice low, Spock said, "Academy groundskeepers are not known for mild dispositions. The cadets sometimes tease them…albeit affectionately. And in their own way, the groundskeepers return the affection."

 _A peculiar relationship,_ thought Nayo, but not more so than our own. At least the two of them had managed to come together for D'Gar's sake, but—perhaps because of D'Gar—they felt more like adversaries than twin brothers.

Craving a cigarette, Nayo slipped a piece of spearmint gum into his mouth. "Well," he said, "so much for the clothes. Tell me, have you gotten around to watching _Warp_ _Speed_?" Spock had been pointedly absent from the movie's private screening, but curiosity might have driven him to see how Nayo portrayed him in the latest Starfleet adventure.

To his surprise, Spock replied, "Yes."

"And?" It was foolish to press Spock, knowing that he would not soothe Nayo's ego with a lie. Judging by Spock's disapproving look, he did not have a high opinion of chewing gum, either. "I suppose you didn't like it."

Shrugging ever-so-slightly, Spock said, "T'Naisa thought you captured me perfectly. She could hardly stop laughing."

Nayo bristled. "It's not a comedy!"

Just then an upperclassman caught sight of them and hesitantly approached with a piece of paper in hand. "Excuse me, sir…but may I have your autograph?" Nayo began to reach for the stylus, but the flustered cadet quickly said, "Oh, I'm sorry, not you, sir—I meant the _real_ Captain Spock."

Spock coolly tipped his head to one side and inscribed his signature for the grateful cadet. Not missing a beat, he resumed the conversation. "We were discussing the concept of humor…?"

Nayo felt like punching him right in the jaw, but he could already hear it on the entertainment news, six o'clock sharp, and word would find its way straight to D'Gar. No, he would not do anything so crude to embarrass his son, but the resentment burst from him in fierce, cutting words. "You think you're so damned superior! Starfleet hero, my ass!"

Spock seemed truly astonished. "Nayo—why are you angry? Because this particular young man didn't ask for your autograph? As for your movie, T'Naisa truly thought you did an excellent job of portraying me…and for that matter, so did I. My only objection involved technical details."

Nayo's anger eased, but it did not go away completely. Would he ever overcome his envy of this privileged brother? Starfleet hero, indeed—even D'Gar longed to follow in Spock's footsteps, and Spock had readily obliged him with a sponsorship. For that reason, if no other, Nayo could not bring himself to apologize. But as a gesture of conciliation he suggested, "If there's ever another sequel, perhaps you would like to serve as a technical advisor."

Spock silently considered the offer, no doubt seeking a graceful way to decline it. Predictably he chose vague, noncommittal words. "Perhaps so."

Nayo decided to make an exit before his temper gave way. Glancing at the display on his wrist phone, he said, "Oh, look at that—I have a meeting scheduled. Good day, Spock." And he turned to go.

 _"_ _Nayo."_

The strangely emotional tone of Spock's voice stopped him, and Nayo swung around. Was there actually a hint of tears in his brother's eyes?

Spock said, "I find it most unfortunate. Think of what we have accomplished together, bringing D'Gar to this day…yet we do not seem to have grown any closer."

Nayo felt a pang deep in his heart. Perhaps it was only the twinge of an old scar, but for once all the anger and jealousy drained from him. "Oh, brother," he said, "you're mistaken. There was a time when you wouldn't have said such a thing to me. Nor would I have accepted it."

Spock's eyebrow rose, slightly at first, then higher as the full import of Nayo's words sank in. Nayo could not help but smile. Closing the distance between them, he made a fist, and cuffing Spock's shoulder, said, "There may yet be hope for us."

As Nayo turned and strode away, the groundskeeper stopped pruning to stare curiously at him, and then at Spock, who stood holding his shoulder long after his brother was gone.

oooOOooo


End file.
